


Disease

by Dracones95



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Mental Coercion, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracones95/pseuds/Dracones95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The affection compartment is part of the superior brain activity and comprises all emotions and feelings, positive and negative. If said compartment is to cease its activity, will the human being still be able to survive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hydrogen

PATIENT FILE REPORT

NAME: LESLIE WITHERS

AGE: 25

The doctor frowned, adjusting the glasses on top of his aquiline nose with his middle finger. The boy that was currently being presented to him, held in place by a guard that gripped at his frail arms tighter than necessary, did not look that age at all. The man was sure he could count his ribs under that blindingly white robe the mental ward had put him into. His face was hidden from the doctor's eyes, the boy refusing to look up from the floor beneath his bare feet; he held his hands close to his chest, wringing them constantly.

"You can let him go now."The doctor put the file down on his desk; he would finish reading it later. The guard hesitated, letting his hands hover on the boy's body for a few moments, as if expecting him to suddenly turn around and make a run for it. It didn't happen, and the doctor motioned for him to leave the room.

The boy's shoulders shook; his skin was as pale as the robe he was wearing, the only spots of color that broke the white expanse were purple, angry and fresh, and yellow, almost healed, bruises, and the red of his lips that he kept biting, probably unconsciously. The man frowned once more at the signs of aggression that marred the boy's skin. It was very unlikely that they were self-inflicted; whoever had him first did not handle him with much care.

"Hello, Leslie!" He sweetened his tone considerably, though he expected no answer from the boy. He's seen all kinds of reactions to his attempts to be friendly, and none of them were at least a little bit positive; some of them had gotten rather unpleasant. He knew what he must have looked like, in the eyes of all those poor souls to ever have crossed his threshold; the sight from the other side of his desk was frightening.

As he expected, he was met with silence. The boy tried hard to ignore him, but it was obvious he was unsuccessful; his shoulders were still tense and trembled slightly. Despite the fact that he kept his eyes glued to the ground, not seeing the doctor, he could feel his presence, looming over him, like a bad omen. Bad. Bad.

"Bad. Bad." He muttered under his breath and covered his ears with his hands, pressing as hard as he could. The doctor watched him intently as he raised his head, but kept his eyes screwed shut. So he hears voices; he's seen other patients try to muffle the sounds of voices inside their brains by clamping their hands over their ears. A futile attempt that only managed to swell their desperation as they realised the demons were inside them, and not out.

His hands fell from either side of his head, his eyelids trembled but he did not dare open them. Most patients didn't sleep at night, didn't even close their eyes, in fear of what they saw when the world around them went black; right now this boy must have been more afraid of him than of what was inside. It made the doctor even more eager to cut open his mind, see what made him lose grip on it. Instead, he cooed at him like he's a kicked puppy.

"Leslie." He didn't answer, not verbally, but he did flinch. At least now the man knew he was listening. He sure hated repeating himself. "My name is Valerio Jimenez." He announced, carefully avoiding his beloved 'doctor' title; it pained his ego to do so, but the feeling of safety he had to create for his patients was vital. This one was already damaged, spooked, and the doctor suddenly felt anger towards whoever treated Leslie before him. No one like fixing other people's messes, and no one like playing with broken toys.

"I will take care of you, for now." Still no reaction. He's had others that had unexpectedly started grabbing things from his desk and hurling them in his direction. He had then worn the gash from the scissor aimed for his head like a battle wound from a war he had won, gloriously.

This complete lack of a response was quite unnerving. "Could you please open your eyes and look at me?" Much to his surprise, watery blue stared back at him and for a moment he felt gutted. The sorrow swimming in them struck him the most, as if the boy had already accepted his fate. And damn, has she been cruel to him.

He grabbed the file on his desk hastily, pretending to be greatly interested in it. Some letters danced in front of his eyes but he could not place some meaning to them. When he looked at the boy again, he was grateful to see he had lowered his head once more. He sighed softly, scratching his forehead absent-mindedly. He's seen many pairs of eyes; he's seen furious glares, and blank stares. And he's seen sadness, but nothing like this.

"Very well, then." He concluded, closing the file once again. "Just follow me, I'll show you to your room." The boy followed, without hesitance this time, waddling like a duck behind him and muttering words to himself.

This one was something special, the doctor could feel that, and nothing made him happier than an unique piece added to his collection.


	2. Morphogenesis

"This is a gold mine, I tell you."

"It's sick!"

The hispanic doctor scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his colleague a scolding look. Quite a brilliant mind; he had to admit that, even though doing so didn't give him much pleasure; and always seeming to observe what others overlooked. Also not afraid, nor unwilling, to get his hands dirty, which often earned him some crooked stares. Ruben Victoriano had come to the facility only two years ago, and managed to make quite a name for himself quicker than anybody else did, much to everybody's chagrin; when Marcelo Jimenez first saw him, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. Young, features delicate and voice soft, Marcelo could not picture a man like Ruben survive into an environment of illness and despair. Even he, a hardened surgeon, sometimes found himself heavy hearted when fate brought a small child to be strapped to his operating table.

That's when he decided to take the young man under his wing; the surprise was, to say at least, enormous. Marcelo had to grit his teeth and swallow his pride whenever the younger man corrected him, pointed out something he missed, or just seemed to know something he didn't. The enthusiasm he harboured was refreshing however; the surgeon had gotten tired of seeing the same worn faces and fallen smiles each and every single day. His dedication motivated some, and brought some others to dislike him or even despise him. Among the latter, his own brother, Valerio. Valerio had, ever since they were children, some sort of a hero complex, and a huge ego to go with it. Competition wasn't something that sat well with him, merely an obstacle in his race to always be at the top, not just in his career, but in his personal life as well. The quarrels with his brother were countless; and some of them had, in those two years, been centered around his, he dared to call him, new friend that he's made.

"You really need to distance yourself from that freak," Marcelo scrunched up his nose at his brother's rather crude language. "Didn't you see how he cuts into those people, with that smile on his face?" At first, Marcelo dismissed him, thought his brother was just trying to be bashful, label Ruben as a threath, a lunatic in order to remove him, but one good look at Ruben's face slicing a girl's stomach open with a serene expression and a slight smirk at the corner of his lips had the image imprinted in his mind. Maybe Valerio had a point. Maybe all the gossip and the snarky comments were clouding his judgement. And while the rumors went flying in every direction, Ruben started working overtime and staying up late.

After a while, everyone forgot, and life went on, up until suddenly, just as he was packing his bag to leave the stuffy office, Ruben blurted out: "What if humans had no feelings?"

Marcelo didn't fully comprehend him, adjusting the strap length on the gray messenger bag he usually carried his belongings in. "What are you talking about?" Ruben sat perched on a tall chair, hands in his lap and hunched shoulders. He looked like a schoolboy afraid that what he was saying wasn't the correct answer.

"What if people had no feelings, but were fully functional otherwise." His eyes studied him carefully, searching for a reaction. Marcelo looked at him dumbfounded, unsure of where his younger colleague was going with this. "Just imagine, feelings no longer impairing a human's judgement, no more acting on impulse or making wrong decisions under the effect of dopamine." He jumped off his chair. "It would raise our efficiency by at least 80 percent."

Marcelo gaped at the man, slowly processing the words that had just left his mouth. "Efficiency for what, what are you talking about?" He repeated, and Ruben looked at him with somewhat disappointed eyes, as if he had expected him to understand. Encourage him even. "People can't survive like that, it's the way we were build."

"But what if we've been given something extra, something we don't need." He continued, back turned and fiddling with a scalpel he picked off a tray. "People are machines after all, you can strip one down, make it work with less parts than it originally had. You just got to know how without breaking it down for good."

"I don't see how you can refer to people as machines." Marcelo said with an iced tone, throwing his bag on his shoulder. "People are more than that, and what they feel and think is what makes them themselves. Do that, you strip them off their personality and turn them into influenceable little robots." Ruben had turned towards him at some point during his speech, with a curious sparkle in his eyes. His dedication to his work had clearly gotten to his head.

"This is a gold mine, I tell you!" The younger man didn't seem fazed by the scowl his senior threw him, now that the prospect of making money out of his crazy ideas had been thrown into the ecuation. Marcelo hoped it was just the sleep deprivation talking.

"It's sick!" He barked shortly, completely dismissing the concept. What kind of a lunatic thought of such things? Valerio could have been right about him. "Don't stay up late again." He continued in a softer, fatherly even tone, while making his way towards the door.


	3. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAISING AWARENESS
> 
> On October 30th, a fire broke out in Colectiv Club, Bucharest, after the fireworks used during a rock concert lit the non-fireproof insulation foam. The club only had one exit and the authorization to function was given by a corrupt mayor without actually checking if it was safe to function; 32 people were killed in the fire and the stampede that it caused, and almost two hundred others were injured.  
> This event led to several anti-governmental protests, after our corrupt leaders refused to take responsibility and turned their backs on the people. Also, the church refused to give support because, I quote: "it was a rock concert, those people were satanists."  
> I've been to the protests myself, there's a lot of anger and a lot of frustration, but it has paid off, to an extent, as both the prime minister and the deputy prime minister have resigned.  
> Please, keep those who died in your thoughts, and pray, if you are religious, for those who have been wounded. Thank you!

Marcelo didn't think much about the concepts his younger colleague had so casually thrown at him for another two weeks; meanwhile, Ruben had stopped working late at night, fact which could only relieve the surgeon. His enthusiasm was going to be the death of him, he had concluded; Ruben was thirsty for knowledge, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, if it didn't include him trying to modify a human's structure and behavior just because he was curious of what would happen. He smiled a little to himself; it sounded ridiculous now when he thought of it, sounded a lot like some sort of shower thoughts. Why did he even think Ruben would actually do such things?

When he walked into the building that morning, the first thing he noticed was a small commotion at the end of the hallway, right near the elevators. He frowned, shrugging his bag off his shoulder and throwing it on one of the counters at the reception. The redhead greeted him with a nod of her head, pointing towards the shouting with her blue pen. "Your brother." She said shortly, and Marcelo rubbed his temple in annoyance. His brother. Of course. Valerio has always been the brawler out the two of them; there wasn't a person in that entire building that his brother hadn't quarreled with; he was surprised nobody had tried to kick him out, and the main reason why nobody tried was that he was good at his job. He knew what he was doing, he took pride in his work. The hospital couldn't lose a man like him; funny, his skills allowed him to patronize others, but didn't justify the attitude. Marcelo had vowed he would never let success get to his head; he'd rather use his knowledge to help others than bring them down. One of the many things that made him so different from his brother.

He approached the small altercation, a mass of blonde hair suddenly entering his line of sight. He fought the urge to just turn around and let them chew each other out; he didn't feel prepared to deal with whatever his brother and Ruben had to share, and they had both given him reasons to be upset with them lately, Ruben with his disturbing ideas, and Valerio with his disinterest in anything else but his work. He barely saw his brother outside of the hospital anymore. His eyes fell on a small silhouette hiding behind Valerio's back, gripping at his white coat as if it were a metal shield that could protect him from the yelling; oblivious to the fact that their argument was clearly bothering who Marcelo could only assume was one of his patients, Valerio glared at Ruben, who had crossed his arms in front of his chest and sneered at him.

"How about you don't harass my patients," His brother spat out, measuring Ruben up and down; the boy behind him sat hunched and cowering, lips trembling as he was whispering to himself, probably trying to calm himself down. Faded bruising marred his very pale skin, signs of severe mistreatment in the near past; whatever Ruben had told him or done to him had scared him, perhaps triggering an unpleasant memory. The younger man tried to look as apologetic as he could.

"I was not harassing him," he kept his arms crossed in a defensive stance, annoyed by Valerio's accusations. "He was waddling around and talking to himself, I just wanted to make sure he didn't hurt himself." The explanation only sounded half genuine and deepened the frowns on both Marcelo and Valerio's faces. "You should take better care of your patients." The snide remark turned Valerio's mouth into a tight line; he usually never lost sight of them, never let them walk around the facility unsupervised, on their own. But now it just happened. He didn't even notice that the young man was gone; the silence was what alerted him, since Leslie always seemed to talk to himself and never wanted to share anything with him. It was frustrating, but at least he trusted him enough to come running to him when he felt another threat coming; it was progress. Small, but still progress.

Marcelo felt the need to intervene before Valerio and Ruben could start another match of yelling at each other and scare the poor kid even more. "Cut it off, now." The two looked at him with surprised expressions, as if they had only just noticed he was there. Perhaps they just did, judging by how they were circling each other as if nothing else existed. "Watch him, don't let him run off like that again." He scolded his brother, and by the scowl on his face, he didn't like it one bit. It surprised him too, how Valerio could be so sloppy and let a patient, and a deeply disturbed one as well, slip past him.

Valerio touched Leslie's shoulder lightly, making him jump and look up at him. "Let's go, Leslie."

Ruben's eyes never left the boy's curved posture as he walked away, with Valerio's hand still on his shoulder, guiding him.

* * *

 

"What was that all about?" Marcelo demanded to know as soon as he and Ruben walked into his office on the second floor of the building." Ruben shrugged and threw himself in the rotating chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. 

"I told you already, he was walking funny, acting all weird, I asked him what he was doing and tried to bring him back." He fiddled with a bunch of files, letting his eyes glide across the names written on the front. None of them familiar. "He went crazy after I started talking to him, and your dear brother showed up, started yelling, scared him even more. Seriously, what is his problem?" 

Marcelo chose not to give an answer; he too wished he could find one to that question.

"You should tread carefully around Valerio." He warned him. Ruben's smile widened as he spun around in his chair.

"Or maybe..he should tread carefully around me." 

"I am starting to believe you're doing all this just to piss me off." Marcelo pinched his nose, firmly grabbing the back of the chair to stop Ruben's childish spinning.

"Hardly," he deadpanned, slightly annoyed that his source of amusement was cut short. He often took pleasure in small things, things others found trivial. "I was genuinely trying to help." He rose from the chair and Marcelo sighed, taking his seat. "Besides, I've never seen someone so.. gone before, in these two years I've been here." Marcelo tapped his fingers against the sturdy table. He saw it coming. "Are you sure your brother can properly take care of him?"

He pursed his lips, staring Ruben dead in the eye, eyes which still shone with something weird. Sinister. He was starting to worry again. "He's qualified, he knows what he's doing." He leaned further into his chair. "Let it go." He added, when Ruben opened his mouth to reply. The blonde shrugged his shoulders and raised his arms defensively, smiling innocently at the surgeon. He pointed at the pile of papers on Marcelo's desk, which had tilted alarmingly.

"Are you going to do anything about those?"

* * *

 

Another week went by with no incidents and Ruben had been friendlier and more helpful than ever and it only served to make Marcelo even more suspicious. He watched him out of the corner of his eye as he was doing some paperwork; he sighed. He was getting old, and paranoid. Not to mention ungrateful; Ruben was probably just trying to make it up for all he's put him through lately. Having to deal with both him and his brother had taken quite a toll on him. He sighed again, and Ruben raised his head from the papers and smiled bashfully at him.

"Tired already, old man?" Marcelo shook his head, refusing to answer to the provocation. Ruben tapped his pen against the wooden desk, before straightening his back and letting out a groan of relief. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were, these are killing me too." He picked up a pile of papers, making a face at them before stapling them together. Marcelo checked the wrist watch he wore everyday, a gift from his late wife, and was surprised to see it was way past their working hours. Usually, his internal clock would alert him when it was time to leave, but now it completely went over his head. He rubbed at his forehead, slightly annoyed at how out of shape he was getting. 

"You go ahead." Ruben said, standing up from his seat with an arm full of other papers that would go into one of the tall cabinets. "I need to put these back in order if I want to finish them anytime this year." Marcelo looked at him over the rim of his glasses, suspiciously. The whole 'working late' had stopped some time ago, but Marcelo suspected that Ruben didn't completely let go of his theories. He loved proving himself right.

"Don't get into any more trouble." He almost pleaded. Ruben smiled widely at him from behind the stack.

"When do I ever get into trouble?" 

Marcelo refrained from answering. He took his suitcase and coat, and left Ruben alone in the office.

Ruben cheered quietly to himself as he placed the last tower of papers on the wooden shelf and closed the cabinet door, locking it with the small metal key. He hated paperwork more than anything in the world; if he wanted to sit on his ass and write all day long, he would've become an accountant. He put the key back on the small styrofoam tray which had most likely contained a store brought cake before Marcelo had turned into a key holder. He had laughed at the older's man method of recycling, but it proved to be quite useful. 

The halls were quiet - everybody had locked up and left, with the exception of a few night guards that usually patrolled the corridors, especially the long, narrow hallway that led into the psychiatry ward. Ruben fiddled with his keys before noticing something strange; the door to the said psychiatry ward was slightly ajar, a draft opening and closing it repeatedly with a creaking sound. No guards in sight. 

He hesitated for a moment, before curiosity took the better of him and pushed him to yank the door open and slip inside the mental ward, where, now more than ever, since Valerio Jimenez was the head of the section, he was unwelcome. He could explain the lack of guards - taking a small break to get a coffee or a pretzel or something, but that door was always locked at night, and the probability of someone forgetting to lock it was low. Ruben turned up his nose at the thought of randomly bumping into Valerio while sneaking around his territory; that would cause quite a scandal that could get him fired, if neither Valerio, nor Marcelo killed him before that could happen. 

A flash of white caught his eye, but before he could say anything, the figure scurried into the darkness, trying in vain to hide between a vending machine and the wall behind it. Ruben approached cautiously, and hoping that whoever that was, he wasn't armed; there had been several incidents, some even ugly, with out of control patients. Even Valerio once took a scissors to the head. 

The figure was small and shaking, muttering to himself unintelligible words. Getting closer, Ruben recognized him - Leslie, Valerio had called him. The same kid that he found wandering the main floor of the building several weeks ago; some would think they would keep an eye on him after that. His harmless appearance was what saved him, probably, from getting locked up in a room like they did with others that caused trouble. Still, with that frail figure, he could hurt himself worse than he could hurt others. 

"You're quite the troublemaker, aren't you?" Leslie didn't look at him, keeping his head down as if he could deny whatever he didn't see existed; he had slid down on the floor, fingers laced together and placed in his lap. He flinched when Ruben spoke to him.

"Sorry..sorry..sorry." Ruben registered the whispered apology, the kid repeating the word like a mantra, under his breath. The doctor knelt down, trying to make himself as small and less intimidating as he could; Leslie brought his knees to his mouth, hugging them tightly. He knew he had done something wrong and was madly afraid of repercussions; he doubted Valerio resorted to such behavior, as much as he disliked the other man. Someone else from Leslie's past hadn't been that big of a person. 

"Hey, easy now. I'm not the bad guy here." Leslie let out a sudden laugh that resembled a bark and startled Ruben into backing off a few millimeters. 

"Bad.." he echoed. Ruben stood up, looking over his shoulder. That guard could be back any moment now and notice the door was unlocked - he didn't fancy being stuck there until the morning, with Valerio to find him. He couldn't let that kid there on the floor either. How exactly he managed to get the door open was beyond him, but if he could do that, sneaking past a few bored guards would be a piece of cake. 

"Come on, Leslie." The boy's head suddenly jerked up at the mention of his name, looking at Ruben with watery eyes. "I need to take you back to your room." Much to his surprise, Leslie slowly picked himself off the floor; his shaking had subdued somehow. He started waddling away, motioning for Ruben to follow him. For someone who wanted to run away so badly, he was too eager to return to his metaphorical cell. 

His room was just around the corner - Ruben could see his name on the files inside the plastic folder glued to the wall next to the wooden frame of the door. Leslie stepped inside, obediently, looking at him as if he was expecting something from him. 

"Stay here, okay?" Ruben asked, looking away from those grey pools - something about them unsettled him. "Don't get into any more trouble." He repeated the words Marcelo had told him no less than half an hour ago, feeling as if he had already disobeyed them. Leslie had sat down his bed, hunched over and no longer knowing he was still there. 

Ruben closed the door, hesitating a few seconds before taking the files out of the plastic, hiding them into his suitcase.

The guard appeared in the hallway with a mug of steaming coffee just as he was shutting the door to the mental ward; he frowned at him, and Ruben tried to appear as innocent and nonchalant as he could. 

"Doctor Victoriano. Is there a problem?" He asked. Ruben pointed at the door behind him. 

"I found it unlocked and I went to check if there was any trouble." He said - it wasn't entirely a lie, just stripped of any details. The guard didn't seem very happy with his answer. 

"You should have called and have someone armed go in there, those patients are dangerous." Ruben rubbed his jaw in annoyance; getting scolded wasn't exactly his favorite activity, especially when whoever was chewing him out wasn't innocent either. 

"Then, you should have been here when I found the door unlocked." The guard brusquely lost his appetite for arguing.

"Yeah, well, I could have sworn it was locked, though" He muttered, trying to justify his absence. "I'll send someone to get the key, good night sir!" Ruben rolled his eyes when the guard stopped looking at him. He walked towards the elevator, mind on the papers hidden away in his suitcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 and chapter 4 have been merged, since chapter 3 was too short for my liking and the story appeared too chopped up.


	4. Prophecy

Ruben unlocked the door to his small apartment, throwing the suitcase on the floor without opening it; he was starting to feel guilty for stealing the documents. He discarded his coat and went to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. The suitcase was staring at him from the hallway, invitingly; he emptied the glass and put it in the sink, eyes never leaving the black leather. He picked it up, and moved to the bedroom, sitting on his bed before undoing the clasps with slightly shaking fingers. Leslie's files were right on top of his own paperwork; he moved them aside, picking up the rest of the papers and setting them on the desk. He turned back, taking a deep breath before reading the first lines.

**Leslie Withers, age 25.**

The boy seemed severely underdeveloped, thin and features still childish, almost translucent skin marred with signs of mistreat. Showed difficult in comunicating and trust issues. Ruben frowned without intending to at the paper, feeling a sudden wave of animosity towards whoever did that to Leslie wash over him. Improper treatment can worsen a patient's initial state, and whoever purposefully did as such didn't deserve the status of a doctor. Not to mention Leslie didn't seem like he had any mean bone in him; completely harmless and innocent. He didn't deserve any of that. 

**The subject has become catatonic after a traumatic experience as a child, where his family was murdered in front of him.**

A condition induced by severe emotional trauma; he rubbed at his chin, closing his eyes. He's been through something similar; the death of his sister, Laura, in a devastating fire. He had managed to get over that trauma, with minimal damage; Leslie, however hadn't been that strong, nor lucky. He closed the file, suddenly wishing he hadn't taken it. 

The first thing he noticed when he returned to duty the next morning was the stern look on Marcelo's face, and the thin line his lips were pursed into. That usually, if not most of the time, meant trouble for him. 

"Good morning!" He greeted him as cheerfully as he could, hoping Marcelo's source of annoyance wasn't him, and it wasn't about what he thought it was. Unfortunately, he, along with Valerio, had been the only sources of annoyance and headaches for Marcelo for a while now.

"Valerio just left." Oh, great. It occurred to him, just then, that there was no way the other man wouldn't notice the missing files. Plus, he had been seen leaving the psychiatry ward. There couldn't have been any more fingers pointed at him. "He told me he's missing some files on a patient you have already met." Marcelo took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "A guard also saw lurking around the area. Tell me, what exactly were you thinking?"

He sounded just like a father scolding his child. Ruben tried his best to keep his face straight; he couldn't admit to taking the files. Valerio would kick him out of that place quicker than he could say 'files' and to be honest, the hospital had become something akin to home for Ruben. He hadn't had some place to truly call his home ever since his sister died, and he would hate to lose it over curiosity. Over a sickly looking child. 

"I was in the psychiatry ward last night," he said slowly, watching Marcelo's temple veins starting to twitch. He felt sorry for the man, having an asshole for a brother and a colleague that always causes trouble and gets him caught in the middle. It was his own job at stake now though, and couldn't afford to make another silly mistake. "I was leaving the office and saw the door unlocked and ajar, I peeked inside to see if there was any trouble and then closed it. That's when the guard saw me. I didn't take anything, I swear." 

The lie came so naturally to him it almost scared him; Marcelo's glare was still drilling through his head and Ruben realized he had been holding his breath the entire time. 

Finally, Marcelo seemed to buy the story; Ruben could have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, although it still was a bit suspicious that it was always Ruben who was in the wrong place all the time. Valerio wasn't any better, though. He was clearly still mad at the younger man and was trying to come up with ways to get him fired. He pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Did you notice anything unusual?"

Ruben shook his head too quickly. "Except that the door was unlocked, no." He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking about Leslie; Valerio's patients were not his concern and he had to act as such. 

"I'll have him take another look, maybe he misplaced them or something." Marcelo sighed. "Blockhead." He muttered under his breath and Ruben snickered, grateful that the matter had been dropped. 

For two weeks had Leslie's files rested on Ruben's nightstand; the surgeon knew them inside and out by now. His graveyard shift was in twenty minutes, and the coffee pot in the kitchen was full and spreading a delicious fragrance throughout the entire house. He tucked the files away, inside the drawer and covered them with some old pyjamas; even though nobody from work usually came to his house, he was still a little paranoid. Valerio had only recently admitted defeat and considered the possibility the he could've had misplaced those files, and he did not fancy proving him wrong now. 

Ten minutes later he was entering the hospital through the main double door, nodding curtly to the guards. 

"Good evening, dr. Victoriano." The lady at the reception sing-songed, twirling her hair around her glittery pen; he gave her a polite smile, which promptly died on his face when the elevator doors opened and Valerio walked out dressed to go, hat on top of his head and suitcase in hand. 

"Evening." Ruben managed to croak out, throat dry. The feeling of paranoia still hadn't gone away completely after snatching some important paperwork on one of the man's patients; he knew that Valerio was convinced he was the culprit, but he didn't have much evidence to prove so, thank God. The stick seemed to have gone even further up his behind, however; the fact that he could use this opportunity to kick Ruben out for good irritated him to no end.

"Evening." The other man replied with an air of annoyance, walking past him without sparing a single glance in his direction; a childish urge to stick his tongue out at his back took over Ruben, but he refrained himself. The receptionist woman was looking at the two over her shoulder, making sure she didn't miss a thing; quite the gossip it must have been. Ruben shook his head, pressing the elevator button.

Upstairs, it was fairly quiet; almost too quiet, he could have said. He pulled another mountain of papers out of his locker, sighing deeply and giving them the dirtiest look he could muster. Bureaucracy was what would eventually kill the system, he thought. He spent more time than necessary picking a pen from his drawer, stalling as much as he could while glancing regularly at the clock on the wall, which seemed to have slowed down to the point of almost stopping. He groaned, going back to signing some papers.

It took him about twenty more glances to realise that the clock had actually stopped, battery most likely drained. He frowned; his cell phone was in his coat pocket, coat which was hanging on the door of his office. He stood up, wincing when his spine protested, and walked absent mindedly towards the door, reaching out to grab his coat. He stopped with his arm outstretched, catching the sound of scurried footsteps outside his office. His frown deepened, almost sure that whoever was lurking outside of his office was a security guard, persuaded by Valerio to keep an eye on him. He yanked the door open rather violently, the sight of the culprit catching him off guard.

"What the...!" He exclaimed loudly, startling the fragile boy into further hunching over his shoulders, hiding his face between his palms. How the hell does he keep getting out? Watery eyes were now peering at him through his parted fingers, while his teeth kept biting at his lower lip until they drew blood. Ruben was speechless, trying to figure out what to make of that kid being damn everywhere; he somehow managed to get past a locked door; he was certain that the said door was locked this time, Valerio wouldn't allow such thing to happen again; and a few guards without alerting them. 

Leslie studied his perplexed face with sad eyes, muttering quietly to himself. His bony fingers were shaking and stained red from being pressed against his shredded lip. 

"You shouldn't be here." Ruben exhaled loudly; how was he supposed to bring him back without the guards seeing him? Another episode like the one with the files and Valerio would straight up murder him. He pinched his nose; this was bad.

"Bad." Ruben's head shot up, looking at Leslie echoing his thoughts with wide eyes. "Bad." A chill ran down his spine and he felt the urge to take a step back, put some distance between himself and the patient. "Bad."

Ruben jumped violently when the phone on his desk started ringing off the hook; he walked backwards, not wanting to take his eyes off Leslie in case he did something else weird, or dangerous. The voice on the other end of the line belonged to the receptionist.

"Your assistance is needed, there is an emergency." He could see Leslie still mouthing "bad" to himself, his face contorting in what looked like pain and anguish. He had frightened him, he had to admit; his behavior was entirely off, completely detached from the real world, like he was waddling around in his own fantasy land. 

"What?" He asked dumbly after a while, not fully registering what the woman was saying.

"An emergency, sir." She repeated, sounding distressed. "A police officer who's been shot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realize that Leslie is not exactly a child, but for some reason I just can't stop calling him that. He's too precious :)


	5. I Can Help You

The line went dead, flat lining in Ruben's right ear; Leslie's eyes burned holes through his own blue ones from across the room, blocking the doorway with his frail body. For a while, he was frozen, unresponsive.

A police officer who's been shot. The word "emergency" ringing alarm bells inside his trained mind; the woman's voice echoed throughout his head, trying to bring him back to reality. He dropped the phone like he's been shocked, suddenly panicking; Leslie still watched him from the door, uncharacteristically calm as if nothing had happened. Blood had trickled from his bitten lips down his chin and dropped on his intertwined, pale hands, staining them. Ruben stared at him, puzzled. He couldn't bring him back. He couldn't let him wander around unsupervised either; that kid was capable of some stunts even Houdini would be jealous of. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten himself seriously hurt so far. 

"Leslie," he cooed gently, trying to lure him inside his office like he would a chicken. His hastily conceived plan was to lock him in and deal with him after he tended to the police officer in the emergency room. "Leslie, come on in, you're safer in here." He sweetened his tone and much to his surprise, it worked; Leslie waddled in slowly, fascinated by the multitude of diplomas and awards both he and Marcelo had hung on the once bare walls. 

"Just stay here, I'll be right back." He wasn't sure the kid even heard him, but he didn't stick around to wait for an answer. He closed the door carefully behind him, locking it and testing the handle afterwards. It didn't budge; he sighed, praying to whatever God listened he would still find Leslie in there when he returned. It wasn't exactly the ideal situation, having Valerio's apparently psychic patient prisoner in his office; if word of this got out, all hell would break loose. He grit his teeth, pressing the buttons on the elevator panel harder than he intended.

"How the hell does he do that?" He muttered to himself, before the elevator stopped and opened its doors to reveal a rather pale nurse, the front of her baby blue scrubs stained with blood. She didn't say a word, but, judging by the look on her face, Ruben could tell that she had been sent after him; the whole Leslie business delayed him, and he suddenly got a sinking feeling that he was too late.

"He's still conscious, though he's in shock," he sighed with relief, rushing out of the elevator towards the emergency room, fast enough to make the nurse jog alongside him, struggling to keep up.

"His name is Joseph Oda, detective," she informed him in a hurried tone. "He got shot twice while he was on duty, his partner brought him in, but wouldn't tell us what happened exactly, apart from the obvious, of course. He was bleeding profusely, we barely managed to stop it in time." He nodded, only hearing half of the information thrown his way. He shouldn't allow himself to get so easily distracted, but the thought that he left Leslie alone locked up in his office wasn't letting him focus the way he should. He swore under his breath, shouldering the door to the emergency room open.

The sight was terrific; blood stained the entire right side of a relatively young brown haired man's white shirt, who was sprawled on a narrow table, eyes gliding over the ceiling without actually seeing anything. Ruben took in the holes in the material; one bullet ripped through the soft tissue in his arm, missing the bone by a few centimeters. The exit wound was a jagged hole, but nothing else remained inside. Luck was on his side, if it could be called luck.

The hole in his torso was certainly more concerning, tiny amounts of blood still gushing out each time the man inhaled. The stain formed a mesmerizing copper and crimson gradient, contrasting with the crisp white of his clothes.

"The bullet is still in." A gruff voice almost scared him, making his head snap immediately to the side, where a grumpy looking man stood arms crossed, frowning at the doctor's apparent lack of coordination. That must have been the partner. How stereotypical.

"Care to tell us what happened?" He began, a little irritated; he made a cutting sign with his fingers at the nurse and she picked up the scissors, working the man's shirt open. A large part of it sticked to his skin, peeling off like old paint baked in the sun. 

"He got shot." The older man's cynicism was starting to grind Ruben's nerves; he was definitely in no mood for sarcasm, and frankly he didn't know how the other was capable of still being an asshole, with his partner bleeding out on an operating table, his life in the hands of the very man he was pissing off right now. He took a deep breath to keep himself from saying anything considered inappropriate to the older man.  
  
"We can already see this, Mr..." he trailed, maintaning defiant eye contact.

"Castellanos." He drawled out his name, staring back at Ruben with the hint of a smirk on his rough face; some sort of a provocation. Ruben decided it was best to ignore it to avoid any other scenes. And Marcelo thought he was the looking for trouble. 

"Castellanos." He echoed, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. "Could you give us some more details about how your partner ended up in this situation?" The man appeared to want to throw his hands up in desperation, but gave up on that intent; the short twitch drew Ruben's attention to his large, calloused palms.

"It's classified." He almost barked, clenching his fists, before reminding himself this was not the proper environment for a fight. "Why does it matter how it happened, it just did. He has a bullet in him and you're wasting time with your stupid questions."

"Sir," one of the nurses began to protest against his attitude, but Ruben silenced her with a gesture, eyes spitting ember at the older man. Whatever he was hiding, it was important enough that he would risk the life of his partner in order to protect it; Ruben would lie if he said he wasn't at least a little bit curious. 

"The gentleman is right," He said in a forced honeyed tone. He had to end that charade and pull that bullet out as soon as possible; not only to save an innocent life, who was not at fault that his partner was an asshole, but to get Leslie out of his office before something else went bad. Detective Castellanos made an exaggerated 'finally' gesture, which only served to anger Ruben further; he bit back all of the mildly to severly insulting words he wanted to throw back at the older man, and slipped a pair of thin latex gloves on his hands.

Around five minutes of digging and no progress was made; he managed to locate the bullet, but pulling it out was proving to be quite a challenge. The detective was noticeably losing his patience, fueling Ruben's irritation. He grit his teeth, repeatedly telling himself to just focus, damn it; sweat was starting to drip down his face, the overhead light slowly cooking the back of his neck.  
  
"Dr Victoriano, sir?"

"What?" He almost snapped; it sounded like one of the guards. "You're not supposed to be he.." He turned around to face the interrupting factor and all color drained from his face at the sight: one security guard was squeezing Leslie's shoulder, who appeared oddly serene and unfazed by the grip the other man had on him. Strange. His grip on the forceps loosened, almost dropping the metal instrument on the tiles below. 

"Where did you find him?" He asked, cursing himself simultaneously in his head for sounding so nervous and suspicious. He could feel Castellanos' scrutinizing eyes on him, like he knew something was off. 

"The hallway on the second floor." Ruben closed his eyes in relief; for a second he had expected to hear something much, much worse. Castellanos' eyes went back and forth between Ruben's tense posture, to Leslie's empty eyes and the guard's confused and slightly concerned expression, not certain now to interpret it. 

"I don't know how he keeps getting out, I heard this isn't the first time." Of course the man would try not to incriminate himself; having somebody constantly getting past locked doors and wandering around on your watch wasn't something to brag about. There was something else in his eyes, a fear and a confusion that made Ruben think he wasn't telling him everything, and the detective was seeing it too. Leslie's eyes fixated on Ruben, looking straight through him, before his eyes landed on the bloodied man on the operating table. Ruben saw them widen almost twice their size, before an unhuman screech took them all by surprise.

The nurses all dropped to the floor, ducking behind the metal table, the guard letting go of Leslie's shoulder like he had burned him. "Jesus!" The detective yelled, covering one of his ears quickly, the other hand going out of instinct towards the gun on his belt; Ruben caught the movement in the corner of his eye. 

A chorus of "no"s and "what the hell"s, followed by Ruben nearly launching himself at the detective added to the chaos; he managed to knock the pistol out of his hand, sending it flying across the room. "Are you out of your mind?" He yelled, shoving him rather harshly aside in his attempt to get to Leslie, who had collapsed on the floor, hiding his sobbing face in his bloodstained hands. The silence was sudden, only interrupted by demented whispers; the detective watched dumbfounded as Ruben kneeled on the tiles in front of the pale young man, who shivered as if left naked in the middle of a storm. 

"Leslie, it's me." His voice was soft; he was acutely aware that the others were drinking in every word he said, but it didn't quite matter now. He would probably regret it later, but now his only goal was to calm the kid down. "It'll be fine. Fine."

"Fine," he echoed and Ruben smiled despite himself; tears trailed down Leslie's cheeks as he took comfort in the mantra, and he wanted to wipe them off so badly, but it was too much. He could feel the stares fixed on him; it was painfully obvious that they were familiar to each, though they weren't supposed to. Everybody knew he wasn't supposed to go near Valerio's patients. He cursed under his breath and when he lifted his head Castellanos' eyes had a strange light dancing inside them. He frowned, turning to the guard.

"Take him up to my office and stay there with him, make sure he doesn't leave. I'll take care of this when I'm done here." He gathered himself off the floor, dusting his clothes with the back of his hand. Leslie winced when the man took hold of his arm, seeking Ruben's eyes, but the doctor avoided his gaze, feeling guilty.

"Shouldn't we call doctor Jimenez?" One of the nurses started. "He's the one who..."

"That," Ruben interrupted her swiftly, "won't be necessary." The guard nodded, taking Leslie out of the room and towards the elevators; Ruben's hands were shaking noticeably. He resorted to shoving them inside his white coat's pockets while chewing nervously on his lower lip. The image of Leslie's pitiful expression remained imprinted in his head, haunting him. 

"Can we go back to my partner here? I swear, the medical care is absolutely sub par in this hospital." The detective grumbled, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at Ruben with the ugliest glare he could possibly muster, glare which he happily returned.

"Well, you're welcome to take it some place else." Ruben snapped back, retrieving another forceps from the tray; the first one had somehow ended up under the sink in the corner, thrown aside in the ruckus. 

"Sir..." one nurse chided him and he sighed and silently agreed with her; he was acting like a child. They both were, and at least one of them had to man up and let it go. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, suddenly tired, leaning over the injured man once again.

* * *

 

The trip back to his office was the longest he's ever experienced; the door didn't seem to get any closer no matter how fast he was going. He ended up almost jogging towards it, opening it rather abruptly. 

The first thing he saw was Leslie sitting at his desk, elbows on the wooden surfaced, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. 

"Sir," he heard the guard stand up, having previously occupied Marcelo's chair. He didn't spare a single glance in his direction, eyes drawn entirely to the small boy, who didn't seem to acknowledge his presence so far.

"That would be all." He said quietly. "I'll bring him back to the psych ward after I've finished taking a look at him. I need to make sure he's not injured." The other man nodded, and promptly left. Ruben took a deep breath, letting himself fall into Marcelo's chair, which groaned in protest. 

"How did you do that?" He asked gently; Leslie's sad eyes looked at him like they were about to cry again. Ruben's arms twitched, overwhelmed with a strange desire to get up and wrap them around the frail body in front of him. He swallowed around the knot in his throat. What was wrong with him? He had never in his entire career gotten attached to a patient, and he hadn't planned to let that happen either. But this was odd, he couldn't bring himself to walk away, and Leslie also seemed strangely drawn to him.

"Shot." The whisper was too soft for him to hear from across the room. 

"What?" He asked, standing up from his seat and taking a small, careful step towards the boy. 

"Shot. Shot. Shot." He repeated, over and over again, covering his ears with his palm like he didn't want to hear himself talk.

Sudden realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Shot. Leslie's parents had been shot; he read that in the files he stole.

"God.." he muttered, reaching his arm out to touch Leslie's white skin. It was cold, concerningly cold; Leslie only had the thin hospital clothes on him, and no shoes nor socks. He hadn't noticed that before; he must have taken them off before he started wandering. He took his coat from where it was hanging and gingerly draped it over Leslie's shoulders, watching him grip at it and pull it closer around his body.

"Is that why you wanted to see me? Leslie, look at me." He didn't move, staring idly at the tiled floor. His lips still quivered, forming the word 'shot' over and over again, like he was trying to get used to it. "Look at me, please." Leslie raised his head suddenly, staring at him as if he had never heard that last word before; the blood had coagulated around his mouth, where his teeth left painful gashes. His body sank further into Ruben's coat, seeking the warmth and the protection it provided. 

"You wanted me to help you." Ruben slumped against his own desk, wiping his face with his hand. This was insane and dangerous, and he couldn't find it in him to walk away. Leslie's wide, sad eyes watched his every move intently. 

He sighed and then shrugged. 

"Well...I'm in over my head now anyways." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medic, I only pretend to know what I'm talking about.


	6. Loose ends

"You what??" 

Marcelo whispered harshly through his teeth, barely managing to restrain himself from smacking Ruben upside the head like a naughty child. Ruben sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. He knew telling Marcelo about last night was a bad idea, but he could trust the older man to keep a secret. Besides, he could use some help. 

"No way." He gesticulated sharply, cutting Ruben off before he barely managed to open his mouth and utter the request. Marcelo shouldered the door to their joint office open a little more forcefully than he intended, wincing at the impact.

"You didn't even hear me out." Ruben whined, closing the door behind him and watching Marcelo whip around furiously. The man looked tired, fed up.

"I don't want to hear it." He held out his hand, letting himself fall into his creaking chair. His shoulder throbbed and the desperation was not helping the headache he could feel rising to the top of his head. "Let Leslie be, you cannot help him." He said quietly, as if someone could be listening at the door; Ruben's face curled into an almost snarl for a few seconds - he was taking it as a challenge, Marcelo was sure. "You're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble, don't you get it?" 

Ruben was silent, face now blank, but Marcelo knew better than to assume the message finally got through his thick, stubborn skull. He sighed, defeated. 

"That is the last warning I'm going to give you." Ruben's eyes sparkled with something unknown. "You're on your own now."

* * *

 

When the clock struck midnight, the lights inside the small apartment were still on, the only occupant pacing back and forth through his living room, hissing and swearing out loud occasionally when he bumped his knees into the black sofa.

Ruben had done stupid things before, most of them out of sheer curiosity just to see what would happen. This time it was different; Leslie's gaze was icy and yet burned him at the same time. He couldn't get that out of his head no matter how much he tried and so whenever he put his head on his pillow and closed his eyes to sleep, they haunted him. He gave up, and started measuring his entire apartment by step, hoping to at least exhaust himself into sleeping. It was dumb, he had concluded. Never in his entire career had he connected to one of his patients, his aloofness often sparkling small controversies and whispers behind his back. This was an entirely different case. 

Marcelo was partially right; he couldn't completely fix whatever was wrong with Leslie no matter how much he would stubbornly try. The broken pieces were small, fine and scattered, impossible to put back together. Leslie's severe shock put him in an irreversible state, cursed to re-live it over and over and over again. He was in a constant state of terror. He knew something bad was about to happen, he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame and he seeked help in him. Not his doctor and caretaker. Not the armed security guard. Him. Why? The answer eluded him. 

Detective Castellanos' face had been plastered all over the news four or five years ago, Ruben learned, when a fire cost him his wife's and daughter's lives; reading the article made his heart sink, hitting way too close to home for his liking. He knew loss. The detective's coping mechanism was to prevent himself from ever getting used to somebody else; the brown haired man whose blood he had on his shirt and hands that night was probably the closest thing he had to a friend. He was desperate to save his life, despite trying to hide it. He lived in fear of causing harm to someone he cared about. Emotional damage; something that tormented all of them and something Ruben seeked to erase.

He sat down at his desk and pulled open a drawer; the red binder was hidden at the bottom, under several magazines. The work he's been doing months ago, overtime, was securely wrapped in the cardboard, and Ruben couldn't help but smile. That was it. It was crazy, Marcelo was right; he was starting to get annoyed by how many times he had to admit Marcelo was right. But if he could pull that off...

He put the binder on the kitchen counter, going back to his pacing. Reprogramming a human brain. It sounded insane even thinking about it. 

"I could destroy its capability to feel powerful emotions." He muttered to himself, tapping his fingers against the light switch of his living room. "No more fear, no more anger. Peace at last." He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, a mad man's grin spread on his face.

* * *

 

He glanced at his watch several times, swirling his amber colored drink around in the tumbler. He was late. Sighing, he leaned hard into the bar counter, ignoring the looks he was getting and focusing on the screen behind the bartender's head. They were still talking about the shootout; he grit his teeth, suddenly angry. 

"Sebastian." There was a hand on his shoulder. Joseph flashed him a weak smile, wrinkling his nose at the poignant smell of cigar smoke. He sat next to him, holding his side carefully. Sebastian watched with weary eyes; there were stitches there, under the crisp white shirt. He couldn't forget the sight of Joseph's blood on his hands.

"How are you feeling?" Joseph shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

"That's not why you called me here." It wasn't a question; Sebastian poured the rest of his drink down his throat, wincing at the way it burned. 

"I wanted to tell you about something that happened at the hospital."


End file.
